


pick a place to rest your head

by luminouspoes (rosesmallow)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Autistic Poe Dameron, Autistic Reader, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Ableism, Multi, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, no pronouns used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29259279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesmallow/pseuds/luminouspoes
Summary: When Poe returns from a mission, he discovers something happened while he was away, and tries to cheer you up
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	pick a place to rest your head

**Author's Note:**

> it was a very long day of dealing with thinly concealed ableism fellas, so I decided to cheer myself up by imagining my favorite flyboy being angry on my behalf. title comes from "hold my girl" by george ezra which is a really sweet song, and this is my super self-indulgent fic so. i steal lyrics from my soft poe playlist.

It’s well past sundown when Poe finally finds you. He’d returned that afternoon from a pretty successful mission with Black Squadron and was surprised your face wasn’t among the crowd that greeted them: you were usually the first at Black One, pushing through the ground crews apologetically to hurl yourself into his arms for one of his traditional spinny hugs.

After the debriefing with Leia, he’d searched through the base for you, investigating all your favorite haunts. You were a creature of habit, which he loved, and often stuck to yourself aside from a handful of close friends - himself, Rose Tico, Kaydel, and the rest of Black Squadron namely - you hung with.

It wasn’t that you were shy, because you definitely weren’t that (you were fierce, a little smug, and as much a smartass as he was), it was that you were selective towards letting your guard down around people, letting people see you as more than just a quiet, obedient medic and part-time comms officer.

He’d asked you once why you did that, and you’d shrugged and refused to meet his eye as you answered, “Most people don’t understand me.”

It took a while for your meaning to dawn on him, the pieces coming to him slowly: how you’d cut yourself off mid-infodump if someone you weren’t familiar with approached you and the squadron, how he’d notice your hands twitching at your sides when something happened on a mission that made you happy (things that would have otherwise made you flap your hands in delight if you’d been in private), the way the sparkle in your eyes would automatically fade as your pulled your expression into a neutral expression around superiors. 

Poe wasn’t sure who made you think you had to hide the spark that made you such a wonderful friend and a delight to be around, but he was certain he’d like a word with them because his heart broke a little more every time he watched you shrink in on yourself and dull your colors to fit into the boxes you thought were expected of you.

Unfortunately, the fact that you kept to yourself meant that everyone he’d asked had no idea where you’d been. You were good at avoiding detection like that - a little  _ too  _ good in Poe’s opinion, you’ve startled him more than once by being too kriffin’ quiet coming up behind him - but he finally finds you in an unused hanger.

You’re leaned up against a set of crates, legs drawn up to your chest, eyes closed with a pair of headphones on as you rock slightly to and fro - not to the beat, but to the energy thrumming inside you, overspilling into the action that Poe can’t help but be endeared by (he does it himself all the time, too, understands what it’s like for that energy to overflow). 

He crouches down in front of you and taps your knee cap. Your eyes fly open with a start, your headphones falling askew as you jump. Poe winces, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, no, it’s okay - wait,” your eyes go wide and you check the chronometer on your wrist, then back up at him, apologetic. “Shit, I lost track of time, I was gonna meet you on the tarmac -” you make a frustrated noise, halfway between a grunt and a whine, and press the heels of your palms against your eyes, which Poe notes for the first time are shining.

His heart sinks. You’ve been  _ crying. _

“Hey, it’s okay, I don’t mind,” still crouched, he shuffles around until he plops down beside you. He extends his arm in invitation and you immediately take it, leaning into him and pressing your face into the fabric of his flight suit. 

He curls his arm around your back, squeezing your arm lightly. You’d explained once, sheepishly, that his hugs specifically seemed to help best when you were feeling overwhelmed, and it seemed like something definitely overwhelmed you while he was away. “Meltdown or shutdown?” he asks, lips pressed against the crown of your head. After a beat, he also adds, “Panic attack?”

It takes a long pause for you to respond, and he automatically catalogs this: you were having trouble getting the words out, as well. “Shutdown,” you finally answer, and your voice sounds rough even muffled against the fabric.

He rubs soothing circles against your back. “Are you doing better?”

You nod once, and Poe feels some of his worry ebb away. “You feel like talking about it?”

There’s a drawn-out silence, and he starts to open his mouth to assure you that you don’t have to if you don’t have the energy, but you straighten abruptly. You don’t back out of his grasp though, instead as you righten yourself, you scoot closer to him so your legs are pressed together. “Bad shift.”

“Did a mission go wrong?” Poe asks, tipping his head toward you, brow creased. A few loose strands of curls fall against his forehead.

You shake your head, “Went successfully. New comms officer…” you trail off, eyes falling down to your hands, which you’ve begun wringing together in your lap. “Saw me rocking, said things.”

Poe’s mouth disappears into a thin line, his hand curling into a fist at his side. “What things?”

You shrug slightly, “Teased me.”

“For rocking?” Poe says, voice low. He looks away from you, towards the empty expanse of the hanger, anger blooming in his chest. “Who was it?”

“Does it matter? It’s not gonna change anything. People don’t...they don’t understand me, don’t like the way I do things.” You shrug again, but Poe can hear the emotion thick in your voice, registers the history behind the words, and that just makes him  _ angrier _ , because the universe shouldn’t do anything but  _ marvel  _ at your light, at the way you view the galaxy. 

“Of course it matters, you shouldn’t have to -” he exhales sharply, closing his eyes as he tries to pull the words together. Instead of anything profound, he lands on an eloquent, “Fuck them.”

You blink in surprise at him, and he hurriedly continues, “You’re incredible, alright? Anyone who doesn’t see that or wants to snuff out the spark that makes you  _ you  _ is a jerk, and no better than the guys we’re fighting.”

“Poe -”

“The fact that people don’t understand you says a hell of a lot more about them than it does you, because all they gotta do is stop and listen. They’d see how amazing you are, just like the way me and the others do.” 

“You and the others are  _ like me, _ ” you murmur, but there’s a faint smile playing at your lips and he knows you’re taking his words to heart. “Of course you think that.”

“Even if I wasn’t, I’d still think you’re incredible.”

You chew on your bottom lip, “Really?”

“Really,” Poe assures you, pulling you in for another hug. He presses another kiss to your head, and you snake an arm around his torso. “But I am serious, who was this new officer?”

You twist your head, resting your chin just over his heart to look up at him, “Poe what are you going to do if I tell you?”

“I’m going to take it to the General. Hey, listen...the Resistance stands against all forms of injustice, alright? That includes ableism and we’ve got a lot of neurodivergent and disabled people on this base. We don’t need someone wandering around, making our best feel like shit because they’re an asshole.”

You squint suspiciously at him for a half-second, “Nothing else? You’re not going to try and give them a piece of your mind?”

“Would it be so bad if I did?” 

“I don’t need anyone fighting my battles for me, not even you, Dameron. Besides, you get into enough trouble on your own, I don’t need you to start getting into it on my behalf.” You huff, staring plaintively up at him and he tilts his head back to chuckle in disbelief.

“I’m not going to say anything, because the worst thing I can do to this jerk is tell Leia. Trust me, there’s not going to be much left of the guy when she’s done.” 

Poe sounds entirely too confident for this to just be an imagined example, and you tap him to get his attention. “Has something like this happened before?” 

He hums in affirmation, “Couple of times. They get an ultimatum, either they can be reassigned and work on being a better person, or they can leave.”

At your incredulous look, Poe shrugs. “Like I said, the Resistance is meant to be a safe space, and we take keeping it that way seriously.”

You watch him for a second longer, then a grin creeps up on your face and you twist around so that the back of your head is resting against his chest instead. After a moment, you tell him the officer’s name, and Poe’s absolutely  _ delighted _ by how smug you sound.

It’s a little while later that you leave the deserted hanger, but there’s a skip in your step as you walk beside him towards the mess for dinner, your hands moving freely as you infodump to him about your favorite book series. Every now and then, your hand motions will slow down in hesitation as someone you don’t recognize passes by, but Poe encourages you to keep going with a smile, and to his immense joy, you  _ do. _

After a while, he joins in, sharing facts on different things on the Rebellion that you listen to with rapt attention, asking as many questions about it as he did your book series, and for the time being, the war feels a million lightyears away, and so do ableist pricks. 


End file.
